


Flowers and Rings

by Creamu



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Fem!Frodo, Female Frodo, Frodo is easily flustered, Genderbending, Rating May Change, Romance, Rule 63, Tags to be Added Along, and very much likes flowers, blooming relationships, fem!Pippin - Freeform, oblivious!Poppy, overly protective!Sam, protective!Merry, protective!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3162773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creamu/pseuds/Creamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fem!Frodo Upon arriving at the Prancing Pony, Frodo and her close friends are unable to find Gandalf. Frodo must accept the help of Strider, a ranger, to travel to Rivendell while escaping the Nine because of the One Ring in her hold. A blooming romance begins to blossom between Strider and Frodo, and things become more and more uncertain as the days pass and Sauron takes a more interest in the Hobbit lass resisting his will. </p><p>(Side Story: fem!Pippin (Poppy) finds a romance of her own)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Prancing Pony

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't see much fem!Frodo stories here on Archive, so I decided to try my own hand at it after much procrastination. Updates will be slow or fast, depending on my time available.

“Good evening, little masters and ladies. If you're seeking accommodation, we got some cozy Hobbit-sized rooms available, Miss. . .?”

“Underhill, my name is Underhill,” a wet and rather pretty looking Hobbit with bright blue eyes said with some hesitation.

Four hobbits stood before the manager of the Prancing Pony. The lobby of the inn was rather cozy, warm and loud. The inn contained mostly men drinking, talking loud and having a good time. The manager, Barliman Butterbur, was a wide man with a kindly face and gray hair and beard and was staring at her curiously, then nodded in acceptance. “Underhill, yes.”

Behind Frodo of long dark brown curls, fair skin and lush pink lips, stood her three closest of friends. Samwise Gamgee was looking around with discomfort, the hobbit lad shifting from foot to foot uneasily but his gaze was straight as he looked in hope to spy Gandalf who told them they would meet here in Bree. Next to him was Poppy, otherly known as Peregrinny Took, with bright honey gold curls and golden brown eyes gazing around with bright interest of her surroundings. Beside her was Merry, her best friend and cousin, he had brown hair and green eyes and of all the hobbits, he visited Bree the most, Poppy following after him.

“We're here for Gandalf they Grey, can you tell him we've arrived?” Frodo asked earnestly.

Butterbur looked thoughtful. “Gandalf? Gandalf. Oh, yes. . . I remember. Elderly chap. Big grey beard, pointy hat.” he recalled. The hobbits behind Frodo shifted in anticipated glee and a smile began to grow on Frodo's lips. “Not seen him for six months.”

Immediately, a worried look appeared on Frodo's face. She looked around at her companions who looked too in worry at her. “What do we do now,” Sam asked, looking frightful. “Maybe he's late?”

“In that case,” Poppy said, stretching, “Let's get some rooms. I got some coin on me.”

Nodding, Frodo took the coins and handed them to Butterbur. “Beds for four, please.”

“Alright-y then,” Butterur said in good cheer, leading them off down a hallway, “Right his way.” He opened a door just down a short passage. “Here is a nice little parlour! I hope it will suit. Excuse me now, I'm that busy. Tonight we have a larger crowd than normal due to a family reunion by the Brushmire family. No time for talking and more time for trotting, hard work for two legs but I don't get thinner!” he laughed in good cheer. “Food can be gained back in the common-room just down the other hallway frm the lobby, and drink as well! Good night to you, little folk.” And then off he went at last. Though he was busy, he seemed capable of an endless steam of talk, no matter how busy he was, a happy sight to be near after their fleeing of the dark-cloaked horsemen.

The room itself was small, cozy with four beds with green blankets and white, fluffy pillows. There was a bright fire burning in the hearth just in the corner, and a round table with a white table cloth close to it. Frodo watched as Sam placed his and her's pack down on the beds and Merry and Poppy were already walking out the room after throwing their wet coats onto a coat stand to let them try by the fire. Taking off her own cloak, she carefully hanged as well and she could feel Sam's nervousness.

She looked over and smiled at her dear friend. They were close since childhood, after being taken in by Bilbo, she met the Gamgee family and Sam had taken it upon himself to be a bodyguard of sort. Sam liked to say they were siblings of sort. “It'll be fine,” Frodo said, “He will be here.”

He smiled as best he could back at her. “I know, Miss Frodo, just those riders really did scare me. Have you ever see such people? I mean, I've seen my own fair share of tall folk and all, but they aren't normal, no they're not.”

Frodo shook her head. “Let's get something to eat, maybe that will settle your nerves.”

Just then, Poppy decided to pop in her pretty little head with a big grin. “All right now! Mind yourself, those men are kinda weird looking, quite queer, mind you. And dont go outdoors, better indoors!”

Merry placed a hand on her head and pushed her down earning a squawk from his best friend. “And take it from me because you know Poppy can't keep to it, but as long as you mind your own business here, folk here will won't but into yours or bother you.”

Poppy glared up at her cousin. “Oh you! I can keep to myself!”

“We all know you can't. Shall we cover your squabble with Lobelia when rumors went about with you and-”

“Oh put a carrot in it.” And Poppy gave a huff, nose up in the air and marched off to get some food.

 

Upon entering the big common-room of the inn, Frodo soon discovered it wasn't just tall-folk as she first thought. She spotted Barliman Butterbur speaking to couple of dwarves and two strange looking men with a big grin on his face. On the benches were various other folk: men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits chattering together, a few more dwarves, and other vague figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners of the common room.

Frodo was pulled aside bu a group of Bree-Hobbits who took interest in the sight of Shire-Hobbits (the hobbits that refused to leave their own holes, as they claimed it). The Bree-Hobbits were, in fact, friendly and inquisitive, and Frodo soon found that she would have to give an explanation of _why_ she had left the Shire. With as much innocence as she could muster into her voice without sounding like she was hiding anything, she proclaimed that she was here because she was interested in the History and Geography (and at this there was some shaking of heads as much of the words she used were not something used in the Bree-dialect). She said in a very earnest voice that she was interested in writing a book (which earned astonished silence)m and that she and her friends had came to Bree in hopes of collecting information about the hobbits who lived outside the Shire, especially in the eastern lands as not many hobbits in the Shire knew anything outside their own cozy borders.

At this, a chorous of voices broke out. Papers of family names, their history and of famous hobbits were pressed into her hands and Frodo, being the avid listener she was, was pretty sure she knew much of the strange happenings of Bree-Hobbits and their much different life. After spending some time with the hobbits and biding them farewell to seek out her friends, she whisked away to her room, placed the papers into her bag and came back to a lone table close to a corner to sit with Sam and Poppy.

They sipped from warm mugs, Poppy having some ale and the other two having nice, hot tea. Then, Merry popped up with a large mug filled to the brim with foamy ale. Poppy's eyes widened at the size of the mug and asked in wonder, “What's that?”

“This, my friend,” Merry said with a grin, before taking a sip from his drink, “Is a pint.”

“It comes in pints?” she asked astonished, blonde curls bouncing in disbelief, then she looked at her other friends sitting across from her and said, “I'm getting one.”

Sam stared in disbelief at the female hobbit as Poppy got up and left with eager haste. “You have half of one already!” he called out, completely ignored.

Frodo shook her head at this, a smile quirking at her lips. She looked around, listening to the Men and Dwarves speak of distant events and troubles occurring in the South. Up at the bar, they saw men looked impressed as Poppy ordered her drink and joked with her.

She stared nervously at her drink, feeling uneasy with the situation at hand. Gandalf still hadn't shown up and they have been at the Prancing Pony for the past few hours. No doubt the wee hours of the morning will be coming soon yet Frodo wasn't at all ready to crawl into her bought bed and curl under the warm covers.

A gentle nundge from Sam's side made her pick up her ears, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, both pale hands holding her cup.

“You see that fellow over there?” Sam said, his voice filled with distrust, “That fellow's done nothing but stare at you since we arrived.”

She glanced to the corner opposite of them on the other side of the commons that Sam indicated to. The man was strange-looking, weather beaten, sitting in the shadows near the wall. A tall tankard sat in front of him and he was smorking from a long-stemmed pipe curioously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had much wear and caked with mud. A travel stained cloak of heavy dark-green was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room, he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could been seen as he watched the hobbits and the light from his pipe illuminated his eyes just briefly revealing interesting hue colored eyes.

As Mr. Butterbur passed them with empty mugs, Frodo was able to gain his attention. The hefty man lowered down and Frodo whispered, “Who is that, that man in the corner?”

Butterbur glanced, and looked quickly back at them. “I don't rightly know. He is one of them wandering folk- Rangers we call them. Dangerous folk they are, wondering out in the wild. He seldoms talks: not but what he can tell a rare tell when he has the mind. He disappears for a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out pretty often last spring; but I haven't seen him about lately. What his right name is, I never heard, but round here he's known as Strider.”

He got up as attention called him and Frodo felt more uneasy than ever. She felt so weak, so hopeless and the ring in her pocket felt heavier than ever. Her hand reached into her pocket and she touched the unnaturally cold metal.

She could hear its voice again, a dark whisper speaking out her last name repeatedly as though testing it on its invisible tongue. It was tempting her, calling her, singing for her to put it on.

“Baggins?” she heard Poppy's voice, penetrating through the voice, startling Frodo into awareness. Dark curls twirled around as Frodo snapped her head towards her cousin's voice. “Sure I know a Baggins. She's right over there. Frodo Baggins. She's my second cousin, once removed on her mother's side and my third cousin, twice removed- nasty marriage that had been, too, don't see what my aunt had seen in the man enough to marry him again twice-”

No! Gandalf said to keep her last name a secret! Not to be used, they were too close to the Shire! She got up to go get her cousin, to stop her from telling anymore. Oh Poppy! Why did she have to speak! Oh oblivious Poppy! This was Frodo's fault, she knew it! She hadn't told her dear cousins not to speak of her last name because of the hunters- why hadn't she seen their confused looks and better explained! Oh Poppy!

The small hobbit had to squeeze through men, the ring still in her left hand. She pushed through the men, ignored completely by them. She moved around them as she quickened her steps to stop her cousin from speaking again, and grabbed onto her cousin's shoulder as she was sitting at the bar. “Poppy!”

But she tripped as she moved back over a tall man's foot, falling backwards. Her cousin cried out her name and the golden ring went flying into the air from her hand. Frodo reached up to grab it, but her aim was off and the ring slipped onto her marriage finger smoothly.

Gasps were loud, shouts in shock at what had happened. “Did you see that!” she heard a man shout, pointing at where Frodo lay.

“She disappeared!”

“Are you drunk?!”

“What _was_ that!”

Merry and Sam shared scared looks and Poppy looked frightened.

Around Frodo it was near darkness. Everything was hazy yet sharp at the same time. There were dark forms surronding her, unnoticng her and a dark voice echoed out to her from behind. _“You cannot hide. . . I see you!”_

Turning around, she saw the most disturbing sight she had yet to see. It was an eye out of flames, a vision of nightmares and terror.

_“_ _There is no life in the void. Only death.”_

She crawled and stumbled away, her back pressing against something hard, her hand pressing against the familiar touch of a wooden pillar. Frodo yanked the ring off with struggle, as if they ring was tightening around her finger, refusing to leave her. And as the golden ring was pulled off, a heavy weight was lifted from her and everything was back to normal. Her heart was racing, and she looked around for her friends, but before she could relax, a strong, large hand grabbed her top and yanked her away into the shadows against the wall.

“You draw far too much attention to yourself, ' _Miss Underhill'_.”

 


	2. We Talked Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo and Aragorn talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixture between the book and movie and some of my own magic added to it to add more flow in my opinion. Kinda rough in some areas.

She was roughly pulled by her arm down the hall, both her and the towering Ranger unseen by the excited crowd at what had just happened. She barely was able to glance around to try and find Sam's gaze, to plea for help: but all she saw was Sam looking sick, Poppy, who was had been becoming drunk, become sober, realizing her folly and Merry looking scared and confused.

Yanked around the corner she went, the man's grip on her arm tight, and down the familiar passage to her rented room. The door was thrown open and the hobbit was barely pass her coming of age was pushed roughly into the room by Strider.

Frodo turned sharply around, her insides cold as the man brisked around the room so easily flickering out the candle lights with his fingers. “What do you want?” Frodo asked, her voice just abrely above a whisper, her bones trembling.

“A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry,” Strider said, his form like a dark shadow and his voice low.

Her body stiffened at his words, and her guard was placed high. “I carry nothing,” she said with a firm tone, her eyes glittering ablaze.

“Indeed? I can usually avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely,” he said, flickering out the last of the candles and throwing back his hood. “That is a rare gift.”

The man was handsome (she assumed he was a man), his skin darkened from years out in the wild and his hair dark, waving to his shoulders and a dark stubble around his strong jaw. His eyes a piercing light blue that could rival Frodo's more brilliant sky blues. This was, perhaps, the first time she had ever seen such a more appealing man to see, but those thoughts soon emptied out of her mind as soon as they came. He knew what she had on her and only Gandalf knew of the ring in her possession.

“Who are you?” came out her mouth, staring up at him with a wavering gaze, yet refused to give in. His gaze upon her penetrated her defenses, and a chill of being seen though came from him. She didn't like it, not one bit.

“Are you frightened?” he asked.

She gazed sharpened at him, her voice unyielding. “. . . yes.”

“Not nearly frightened enough,” he said in return to her admission, though she could see his gaze soften just a bit. “I know what hunts you.”

Suddenly, loud noise of feet pounding against the ground in a hurry made Frodo jump suddenly and Strider pulled out his sword with swiftness, grabbing Frodo in his unsheathing of his blade and placing her firmly behind him as the door slammed open with a bang. Sam was first to pop in with his fists at the ready to start swinging punches, Merry with a candlestick and lovely Poppy with a chair over her head to start throwing.

“Let her go or I'll have you, Longshanks!” Sam shouted angrily with the steel tone of threat lining his voice.

Strider shook his head and Frodo let out a relived breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding. A smile, a small one but a smile, appeared on the Ranger's face at the hobbits.

“You have a stout heart, little Hobbit, but that alone won't save you...” then he turned towards Frodo with all seriousness in place, from his tone to his features, a grave look upon his face. “You can no longer wait for the Wizard, Frodo. They're coming.”

There was a silence in the room, a dark one at his words. Frodo's heart squeezed, her eyes widening to proportions that hadn't been that wide since Bilbo's stunt at his birthday party many time before. They're? Who- how? And it clicked. “It couldn't be-”

The man nodded slowly down at the hobbit. “They know where you are, Miss Baggins.”

Sam looked uneasy, shifting once again from foot to foot, his hands clenched at his sides.

Merry, still with a candlestick, looked bemused and Poppy stared from Frodo to Sam, and then from Sam to Strider, to Strider to Frodo. “Who are coming!” she cried out, wishing to know, not liking being left out of this serious business. “Who? Those dark riders from before?”

Looking sharply at Poppy, Strider repeated, “Dark riders from before?”

“We were chased just outside the Shire on our way here to Bree,” Frodo explained timidly. “We lost them at the river crossing.”

“Those dark riders are coming again?” Merry spluttered, “What on earth what they want with Frodo?”

Sam slapped the other male hobbit behind the head. “Hush you,” he hissed.

Poppy blinked stilled confused from the slightly scared expression on her cousin's face, the glaring match between Sam and her best friend, and the brooding expression upon the dark cloaked man. “Then whose this?” she demanded, pointing at the man. “I should at least know this man! I thought he was going to force Frodo into some -oww!”

She was slapped on the back of her own head by both Sam and Merry. “This is all your fault,” Sam said.

“My fault?” she spluttered, glaring and cheeks going a very interesting color of red from anger. “How is it my fault?!”

Sam huffed and placed his hands on his hips in a pose of lecture, a position he was a master at since he had many young siblings he had to practice it on and little rascals in the area he lived with his father and family. “Now listen here, Miss Took. Hadn't you listened earlier that we were not suppose to be saying Miss Frodo's last name? You got yourself drunk enough to start talking about the Baggins family in front of those men.”

As Sam lectured their now very flustered friend, Merry leaned over and whispered from the corner of his mouth as he watched this with an amused Strider and worried Frodo, “See. I told you she won't keep to it. Mind yourself, she said. Look what pickle we're in, Frodo.”

 

They were all in Strider's room. It was in another inn, just across from the Prancing Pony. They snuck their way pass a very busy Butterbur, bringing their few belongings with them.

Poppy was soon passed off on the bed, squished in between Merry and Sam, all worn out from earlier. Frodo placed a blanket over them to keep them warm from the chilly night as Strider had all light extinguished from the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared with unrest out the window to the streets lit by only the moon. Strider sat in his corner by the window, also staring out the window with intensity, watching. Waiting.

It was a rather. . . tense quietness between them. Possibly it was mainly coming from Frodo, having been told by Gandalf not to trust anyone. The ranger seemed nice enough and wise beyond her own years, for sure.

“How did you know?” Frodo asked quietly, questions rolling into her mind, one after the other. “How did you know my last name was 'Baggins', not Underhill?”

Their was shifting from where Strider sat, possibly looking over at her or getting more comfortable in his perch. But Frodo didn't dare look up, too uncertain to meet his soul-seeing gaze. “I had only been passing by while you were coming to Bree. I have hunted many wild and wary things and I can usually avoid being seen, if I wish. I was behind the hedge this evening on the Road West of Bree, when four hobbits came out of the Downlands. They spoke in tones, all on edge, especially one particular hobbit. One spoke in an urgent tone to the others, _'Please remember that the name Baggins must not be mentioned'._ It stroke my curiosity, and, seeing how one hobbit mentioned Bree's distance, I headed off to Bree before you and slipped over the gate and arrived to the Prancing Pony. I wondered what honest reason why a respectable Hobbit decided to leave their name behind; but if so, I should advise him and his friends to be more careful of their talk as darkness lurks.”

Frodo stared, wide eyed at him, gaping. No words came out of her mouth, astonished he was able to figure out their plans so easily, who they were waiting for and not once be noticed by them. Her Uncle often spoke of his adventures, how loud dwarves could be and how quiet he was. She assumed, from childish heart, that only goblins and hobbits had such stealth.

Keeping herself in check, she said in a slight angry tone, “I don't see what interest my name has for any in Bree, and I still have yet to earn why it interests you. Mister Strider may have an honest reason for spying and eavesdropping but if so. . . I should advise he explains it. I may not be good with keeping low, but I demand answers when I see a need for them considering my situation and the trust I am placing in you,” Frodo finished, feeling a little out of breath herself.

“Well answered,” Strider laughed. “But the explanation is simple: I had known a Baggins before yourself, many times ago. He was an adventure and had left the Shire many weeks ago. Not long after, I had met Gandalf who was coming back from a small quest of his own and had passed through on his way to the head of his Order to seek council in a strange matter. He had mentioned only one name to me, something to deal with Mister Baggins and his niece. . .”

By now, Frodo's eyes once more widened. He knew her uncle! Strider knew Bilbo!

“The only niece the Baggins ever told me of and spoke tales of, was of a young Miss Frodo Baggins. I pieced everything together and wished no harm upon my friend's niece,” he said, then sighed heavily. “It could have gone better, avoiding what has happened earlier, if the innkeeper wasn't so abnormally watchitive over who came to you.”

“You don't think-”

“No, I don't think old Butterbur was as suspicious of you,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “If anything, he was watching out for any who would cause any boldy harm while drunk in their stupor to woe his pretty patron. It doesn't help with my appearance either.”

Frodo, who was now looking rather flustered that Strider had basically complimented her beauty, gave him a puzzled look.

“Well, I have a rather rascally look, have I not?” said Strider with a curl of the lip and a queer gleam in his eye. Frodo instantly looked away, hiding away the red tint in her reddening cheeks. “But I hope we shall get to know one another better,” he continued, “When we do, I hope you will explain your situation. For that little prank however-”

“It was sheer accident,” Frodo cried out quietly, not wishing to disturb her companions' sleep and wishing to correct Strider.

“Accident, then,” he said. “That accident has made your position dangerous.”

“Hardly more than it was already,” Frodo countered, shivers going up her spine in remembrance of what she had seen during her 'accident' in the tavern. “I knew the horsemen were pursuing me. . . but it would seem they have missed me and have gone away along the path.”

“You must not count on that,” Strider informed her sharply, his gaze piercing. She was wanted to flinch at the sudden sharpness in his gaze, so dramatically different form his kinder one. “They will return and more are coming. I know their number and I know these dark riders, as your friends call them.” He paused for a moment, looking back out the windows, eyes cold and hard. “And there are some folk in Bree who not to be trusted,” he went on in a slightly graver tone. There was one among the crowd tonight, Bill Ferny he is known through Bree as a queer, dark man, you must have seen his company: a swathing sneery fellow. He was very close to the Southern strangers who may have seen together. They had slipped away shortly after you incident. Not all Southerns mean well and Ferny will no doubt sell information about you if it means gold and amusement for himself.”

A frown now had grown on Frodo's fair face, looking out the window watching as drunken men left the Prancing Pony in drunken states. “Who would he sell information to? Surely the dark riders would not give money and simply threaten his life for information about my accident.”

“It is not just the riders who seek out the ring,” Strider explained to her, now looking back at her and leaning forward. She could smell his scent now. It was musky, almost like a wet forest, but there was something fresher to it. Of cool streams and pine trees. “What you carry holds a dark legend to it of great terrible power, surely Gandalf has told you his.”

“He has,” Frodo whispered, their eyes holding each others.

“Then you know well that though some of written its history off as a myth, many of his once allies still see it as the beaken of power. They scower the lands for many centuries, looking for his symbol of power. The increase in darkness and shadows in the lands have no doubt clarified that indeed the ring still exists and their efforts for it have increased. Whether to gain power before him or be on stronger, higher stance of favor in his eyes, I do not know, but their search is more vigorous than ever. Coin they can easily spare, it means nearly nothing to them. But to Men? Gold can open hesitant or eager mouths.

“You will have to leave after tonight. It would seem likely after tonight the Riders will know of your accident by morning. You will have to leave the open road for the horsemen will be watching it day and night. You may escape from Bree and be allowed to continue on forward while the Sun is up, but when the sun is gone? You will not get far and they will come for you in the wild in some dark place where there is no help nor hope of escape,” he said, everything about him dark and an unknown expression swirling in his mountain ice eyes.

Looking up at him, her chin up, she asked, “What should you have me do? Venture on my own without my friends for no doubt our pace may slow and our chance of passing any grows slimmer as the days pass and the wear comes to our feet. I may not be like my uncle whom is quick and witty on his feet, but I am quick.”

There was a tiny smile at his lips at her last remark. “I do not doubt you, Miss Baggins, that you are quick. Your Uncle made that much clear to me in his stories of your younger days and in our own adventures.” His face grew grave once more. “But for what shall you do? I offer myself as your guide to a sanctuary from the horsemen. They will not dare venture forward to where I shall take you. I can promise you a greater safe passage. I know all the lands between the Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for many years. I am older than I look and I may prove useful on your quest.”

“And Gandalf?” Frodo asked in a quiet voice, her hands clenching the folds of her own shirt tightly. “What of him? He said we would meet here, at the Prancing Pony.”

Strider got up and knelt before her. “Miss Baggins, there is great dark forces at work outside the Shire. Gandalf, I believe, may have run into trouble. He will, no doubt after finding you not here, believe you have been taken to where I shall be leading you. . . and your companions to.”

Frodo stared into his eyes. “Where will you be taking us,” the hobbit whispered, shivering just slightly from the chill now creeping up on her.

He wrapped a blanket around her, Strider's face un-answering and blank. Then he looked back at her before returning to his post by the window. “I shall be taking you to a place of great power, to Rivendell, Miss Baggins.”

 

There were quiet after that. Strider took amusement in the wonder that seemed to dawn and glow upon her face at the mention of Rivendell. Her Uncle often spoke of Rivendell and of the elves there, such as Lord Elrond and his children.

They sat in content, no longer overly awkward silence. Hours passed slowly and Frodo found that rest would not come to her. The ring in her pocket was a bitter coldness to her side and unrest that steamed from it kept her awake.

Behind her, Sam tossed restlessly in his sleep as though trying to get more comfortable. He stilled and when she went back to focusing out the window, she heard Sam's gasp as he awoke with a start.

In front of her, Strider seemed oblivious to Sam's sudden awakening, watching the flickering of lights from the window that was once the hobbits' room. A horrible high screech soon followed startling Poppy and Merry awake, sitting up straight in their beds and staring at the window in horror. Frodo looked at Strider, whose face was gloomy.

“What are they,” she asked Strider, sounding the question all running through all the hobbits' curly heads.

“They were once men. Great Kings of Men,” the Ranger said, looking over at their frightened forms. “The Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness.” He looked back out the window, watching as the dark riders mounted their dark horses. “Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter 2 done.

**Author's Note:**

> I use both the book and the movie as reference.


End file.
